


Hexagonal Symmetry

by forgosa



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Sharing a Bed, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgosa/pseuds/forgosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her relationship with Alicia is like probing at a broken tooth at the back of her jaw; it hurts, but she can’t leave it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hexagonal Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schwarmerei1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwarmerei1/gifts).



It’s snowing when the phone wakes her. Kalinda fumbles for it, finding cold bed between her and the nightstand. She was buried in a blanket, which was uncharacteristic; she prefered to sleep slipping under something, with freedom to move if something woke her. But she was tangled in it; she must have curled up in it sometime in the night, seeking the warmth of something external. Her hair springs out around her face, and she pushes it back. It’s getting long again, her black hairband lying like a spider in the centre of her pillow. She answers the phone.

It’s Diane. For a moment it seems like her voice is coming from very far away. She can hear Alicia in the background, Carey. Some of the other lawyers, arguing in their favourite way, voices climbing over one another. Kalinda gets out of bed, flinches back from the cold floor. She puts her phone on her shoulder and ties her hair out of the way, pushing at the soft strands that emerge to brush against her face. She’s bone-tired, and sleep is calling her back. When was the last time she got to bed before morning? She pulls the curtains back even further as the cacophony on the other end gets louder. Fat flakes are beginning to catch against the glass.

“Kalinda,” Diane says.

“I’m here,” she says, even though her voice sounds sleep-heavy and tired.

“I need to send you with Alicia to consult with a client, up north.”

She bites back _couldn’t this wait until morning?_ and closes the curtains again. The details that Diane gives her are hazy. Some rich client, rich enough to send a name partner up in the middle of the night, has a problem with his wife. Or ex-wife. Or daughter. The voices in the background get louder with each nebulous fact. Someone is suing him, or he is suing someone. Yet again, they want her to figure out who is sleeping with who. The drive is five or six hours, enough to get them there by morning. This is where Kalinda falters, and tries not to let it show on the phone. Six hours in the car with Alicia. She can’t remember the last time they spoke in person. Her relationship with Alicia is like probing at a broken tooth at the back of her jaw; it hurts, but she can’t leave it alone. She knows that cold look, the chilly front that can sweep over Alicia. She’s seen that a lot, recently, and from afar. She finds warm leggings in her closet, tall black boots with a woolen insert. She shakes her hair out in the bathroom and brushes it for a few seconds before tying it back again. There are dark smudges under her eyes, shadows caused by the cloud of Lemond Bishop that hangs in the back of her mind. She makes her bed, layers her clothing well, hat, scarf, gloves, and makes sure her door is locked. She checks twice, the murky depths of half-remembered dreams still swirling around her. She doesn’t deal in dreams, as a rule. The world itself brings too many other possibilities, too many dark, lurking shadows that pose a real threat. She doesn’t have time for dreams.

The snow is sticking when she pulls up in front of the old t-shirt factory. She goes to text Alicia, or Diane, but Alicia’s already coming out the door when she unlocks her phone. She rolls the window down.

“Your car or mine?” she says, and tries to achieve a medium between her everyday poker face and how she used to be with Alicia, more laughing and open than she’d been with anyone, potentially ever.

“I’m not sure I’ve got the right tires for this,” Alicia says, and pulls open the passenger side door. Kalinda moves her camera case to the back seat. Alicia’s coat is dark blue, with a bit of fur at the collar. It’s classy, understated. She wonders if the fur is real. Her gloves and handbag match, which doesn’t surprise her. Alicia wipes some snow of the front of some files before pulling the door shut behind her. Alicia keys the address into Kalinda’s GPS almost without prompting, the clinical female voice straining to fill in the silences between them. There are some Christmas lights up on stores on the streets, but it’s too late for any people to be out enjoying them. Then they’re gone when they get onto the highway, nothing left to quell the distance between them.

Alicia leans her head against the window, suffering from the same gritty eyes that Kalinda is. Better that one of them sleep, so that they can switch halfway through. She follows the lines of the road and her headlights until the snow whips up faster, blurring her vision. She turns on her hazards and pulls to a careful stop. They’re off the highway now, on a road lined with soaring pines, their branches clashing in the wind.

“Alicia,” she says, and the name tastes foreign in her mouth. She hesitates to touch Alicia, and then is annoyed by her own hesitation. She touches Alicia’s shoulder gently, and shakes her just a little. Alicia comes awake all at once, almost scattering the files into the footwell.

“Sorry,” Alicia says, pressing her hand into her eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Are we there?”

“No,” Kalinda says. She can feel that Alicia is caught between their friendship and her own facade. They’re twins in that moment, a brief flash of their old selves, and the cooling afterward. “It’s a blizzard,” she says. “We might have to stop until it passes.”

“Oh, God,” Alicia groans, and presses her face against the cool window. There’s a motel a few miles up the road, and she inches the car forwards for most of it, while Alicia tries to make a call. She can’t get through; the storm must have knocked out the cell service. She fiddles with the radio, tries to get a signal while Kalinda prays that no one is coming in the opposite direction.

The motel is pretty basic. Kalinda goes in alone while Alicia goes to the payphone in the parking lot, probably scattering more lawyers to frantic action, jolting them out of dozing on the uncomfortable couches in the lobby. She has to ring the after-hours bell, but a woman comes through without any fuss.

“Knew we’d get people tonight,” she says. She’s pale-faced and milky with sleep. “Rather have you in here than on the roads.”

She opens the registration book, but Kalinda can already see by the wall behind the woman that there are no rooms left, and wants to shout at her for not illuminating the no on her vacancy sign. She doesn’t want to sleep in the car, doesn’t want to explain to Alicia the baseball bat on the back seat, the fast food wrappers in the bag in the centre console. The pistol in the glove compartment.

“One left,” she says. “You’re in luck.”

Kalinda hasn’t had much she would describe as luck in quite some time. And this isn’t, either, because when she opens the door to the room, it’s one bed. A king.

 _Fuck_ , she whispers, against the howl of the wind, and hopes it doesn’t get carried out to Alicia’s ears. She goes back to the car and gets her bag from the trunk. Alicia comes back from the payphone, follows her into the room. Kalinda pushes the door shut with a snowy boot, and kneels down to unzip it. Her feet ache with the cold. Alicia doesn’t give the bed a second glance, more interested in the room phone. She gets on with Diane in seconds, argues with Cary for twenty minutes, and ends up calling the rich client’s housekeeper. She apologises for the delay, and for waking her up, but the woman on the other end says something about preferring them to arrive alive than on time. Alicia thanks her, and exhales a long-held breath as she puts the phone down, and sinks onto the pillows. She reminds Kalinda of a woman in a classical painting on a fainting couch. Kalinda puts her phone on to charge, and Alicia follows suit. They have identical phones now, with identical chargers, and they lie next to each other on the bedside table.

“I didn’t think to bring my pajamas,” Alicia says, and it’s both a joke and an apology. She slides into the bathroom while Kalinda sits in the chair by the tv, aching to her bones. The wind outside is a howl, but it’s almost a comforting one, the call of a distant pack rather than a warning. She wishes that they had a fireplace, a hot toddy, nowhere to be in the morning.

She remembers, then, what’s tucked in the bottom of her bag, that she put there in what seems like another lifetime, when she was packing the bag for something hopeful.

Alicia comes out of the bathroom in her slip with her clothes neatly folded. Kalinda can see a flash of her periwinkle bra, the strap hanging out of the pile. Kalinda can see the shape of her breasts under the slip, the point of her nipples. She flushes, and turns away from Alicia, her body betraying her. It’s unlike her; her guard has slipped, from the tiredness, from the covered bruise that is their friendship, hidden, and not healed. Alicia’s taken off all her makeup in the bathroom, and it seems to narrow the focus of the room, take her presence down to a calming hush. She’s just as tired as Kalinda, ignoring the grey doze she’d had in the car. Kalinda can tell by the soft swoop of her body as she gets into the bed, how she pulls the covers around herself without preamble, like a woman gathering the folds of her dress closer to her body. There’s a soft vulnerability to the action that makes Kalinda want to hide herself away from its intimacy.

She goes to the bathroom, splashes water on her face, takes off her layers one by one. There’s a cold core to her, under the layers of clothing, and she rubs her hands on her cold thighs, trying to find some self-sufficient warmth in her own skin. Her untucked shirt falls low enough to be considered decent, so she keeps her socks on, and reaches behind herself to unclip her bra.

Alicia’s not asleep when Kalinda returns, but is sitting up in the bed, flicking through the grainy channels on the boxy TV. Kalinda slides into the cold, clean sheets, tucking her feet up against her own body.

“Is this yours?” Alicia asks, holding up a silver flask. Kalinda reaches out, turns it over. K Sharma is engraved on the bottom.

“That’s my name,” Kalinda says.

Alicia laughs. “That’s why you’re an investigator.” She unscrews the flask, and takes a sniff, then drinks from it. She hands it over to Kalinda, who takes a pull of her own. The whiskey flows through her, warming her from the inside out. Alicia’s eyes are crinkled up by her smile; it’s genuine. Kalinda reaches over and snaps off the bedside light, and Alicia follows, leaving them to be illuminated by only the shifting colours of the TV.

Kalinda slides down the covers, a little, enough that she can take another sip at the flask without spilling it. She hands it back, and Alicia cradles it for a moment, eyes caught by something on the local news. Kalinda is still cold, so she tucks her fingers under the blanket and moves a little closer to Alicia. She can feel her warmth through the covers, and the contrast is shocking. She can’t help herself from wiggling a little closer to Alicia’s warmth, even though it feels like what she’s been doing for years now. Get a little closer to Alicia’s warmth, Alicia’s light.

Alicia’s legs are crooked inwards. Kalinda’s foot knocks against hers and Alicia flinches.

“God, you’re like ice, Kalinda.”

Alicia pulls the covers up and motions Kalinda to come closer. She does, leaning her head against Alicia’s shoulder and the puffy pillow behind her. She tucks her knees up against Alicia’s legs, and although the contact is new, it feels nice, letting Alicia’s warmth soak into her skin. She drifts for a moment between asleep and awake, before feeling Alicia stir. She thinks for a moment that she has pins and needles in the arm Kalinda is leaning against, but when she opens her eyes, Alicia’s face is much closer than she expected. It almost looks as if Alicia is leaning close to kiss her, which she knows is impossible, so she leans forward and closes the gap herself.

Alicia smells like soap and expensive perfume, and she doesn’t pull away. She just sighs into the kiss and kisses back. Alicia is a good kisser; she’d never really thought about just how many kisses had passed Alicia’s lips, never thought about how kissing her would feel (and perhaps that was a lie, but one she allowed herself), but it’s good, like Alicia’s heat is pouring into her, like she’s a vessel being filled.

She sits up a little, controlling the kiss, coaxing Alicia’s mouth open, sliding her tongue inside. She slings a leg over Alicia’s hips and moves her weight onto her, hands sliding up into her hair. Alicia touches Kalinda’s shoulders, her back, smoothing the fabric of her shirt against her skin. She runs her hands down Alicia’s neck, and breaks the kiss, following her own fingers down Alicia’s neck, kissing the soft skin there. She runs her lips up to Alicia’s ear and gently presses her teeth into the rim. Alicia shivers. She pairs it with running her hands down Alicia’s sides, her thumbs brushing against Alicia’s breast. Alicia’s break is starting to come a little harder. She takes her weight off her and slides down, landing between her legs.

“Have you ever—”

“No,” Alicia says.

Kalinda leans forward to kiss her again, and can’t help smiling into the kiss. She moves down again, kisses her nipples through the slip, puts her mouth over one and sucks, touches her teeth against it. Alicia’s back rolls into it, and Kalinda runs her hands down Alicia’s hips, pulling the slip up. Her underwear is that same periwinkle blue, halfway between practical and sexy, with lace details. She leans down and kisses her skin right over the band. Alicia’s hips shift experimentally. Kalinda rubs her clit through the underwear, and Alicia gasps at the muted contact, her hips working into the touch. She wonders how long it’s been since Alicia last got herself off. She looks up; Alicia’s eyes are open, and she’s biting her lip. Kalinda slides her fingers down to where her underwear gets damp, and slides her fingers up and down between until Alicia begins to flush from her cheeks onto her neck. She hooks her fingers into the underwear and tugs it down, Alicia raising her hips in compliance. Kalinda settles down a little further, gently parts Alicia’s pubic hair to reveal her clit. She leans down and gives it a pointed little lick. Alicia’s breath hitches, so she does it again, varies it with licking a broad stroke down to her hole and back up again, until Alicia’s legs fall more open and Kalinda adds the pressure of her finger, sliding easily into Alicia. She keeps the attention on Alicia’s clit until it seems like her whole hand is wet. Alicia’s trying to keep quiet, now, because it’s late, and they certainly have neighbours. Kalinda doesn’t care. She wants to coax those throaty noises out of Alicia, presses her teeth into her clit, slides another finger in and rubs, with a little pressure, on her inner walls. Alicia pushes her hips forward and Kalinda speeds up, adds relentless pressure onto Alicia’s clit until she comes with a cry, her arm flung over her face.

“Oh, God, Kalinda,” she says. Kalinda considers trying to coax another orgasm out of her, but she pulls away when Alicia urges her up, and kisses her even with her own wetness on Kalinda’s face. Her thigh slides between Kalinda’s legs, and up, and Kalinda gasps. She feels wet and swollen, almost bruised, grinding down on Alicia’s leg. Alicia’s hands lock onto Kalinda’s hips, and between that and the slight motion of Alicia’s thigh, she creates a rhythm between them, almost fucking Kalinda in the slow, steady movement. It doesn’t take her long to be on the verge of coming, until Alicia slips her hand under Kalinda’s shirt and finds her breast, first rubbing her nipple and then pinching it, and it pushes her over the edge. She falls forward onto Alicia, who moves her ponytail out of the way and strokes her sweaty neck until her breathing eases.

She slides off, and burrows down into the covers, her heart thudding. There’s no chill left in the room, and the silence between them is comfortable. Kalinda falls asleep, her feet still intertwined with Alicia’s, knowing she’s going to have to wake up to the real world soon, back to work, back to the city, back to Bishop. But Alicia’s hand, gently stroking her shoulder as she falls to sleep, tells her that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

 

 


End file.
